“Ms.
Wilson,” she said to me, “may we come in?”
I stepped aside.
Amanda backed toward the dining room wall.
“This is insane.
Heather is confused.
She signed those papers and now she is blaming me because she cannot afford them.”
Detective Ortiz looked at me, then at Amanda.
“Which one of you is Heather Wilson?”
“I am,” we both said.
Amanda realized her mistake half a second too late.
Ortiz’s eyes settled on the hospital badge clipped to the waistband of my scrubs.
My photograph was visible beneath the plastic cover.
“Identification,” she said.
I handed her my driver’s license.
Amanda reached into her purse, moved objects around, and finally said, “I left mine at home.”
Brian stared at her.
“You drove here.”
“I said I left it.”
Ortiz opened her case.
Inside were copies of the mortgage application, the notarized photograph, and a still image from the bank’s lobby camera.
In the still, Amanda wore the same dark wig and carried one of my old canvas work bags.
The detective asked her to sit.
Amanda remained standing.
“Am I under arrest?”
“At this moment, I am asking questions.”
“Then I am not answering anything without a lawyer.”
That was the first sensible thing she had said all night.
One officer moved closer to the back doorway.
Amanda noticed him and sat down.
My phone rang.
The caller was Elliot Shaw, the bank’s senior fraud investigator.
I answered on speaker because every secret in that room had survived long enough.
“Heather,” he said, “do not let anyone leave.
We identified another property tied to your file.”
My stomach tightened.
“Another mortgage?”
“Not exactly.
A condominium was purchased two years ago through a company called HWD Holdings.
Your Social Security number was used as the guarantor.
The loan is current, but the ownership documents are irregular.”
Amanda closed her eyes.
Detective Ortiz heard the silence.
“What address?”
Elliot read it aloud.
Brian stopped breathing for a moment.
“That is the apartment near the university,” he said.
Amanda glared at him.
My mother looked confused.
“What apartment?”
Brian pushed his chair away from the table.
“She said it belonged to a client.
She goes there every Tuesday and Thursday.”
Amanda’s face hardened.
“Do not do this, Brian.”
